Thursday, 8 December 2011

French Fried

Je ne parle pas francais. I think I just said I don't speak French. Nevertheless, I love the French. J'adore le francais! I think I just said I like rubber boots.

This was the extent of mine and Cory's language skills during our recent trip to Paris. We were in the land of berets for a week-long trip, with some other fun stops I'll write about soon. During our time in gay old Pa-ree, we took in many sights and did much strolling along the Seine. Like here:

And here:

And once more with feeling:

Of course, we did plenty of eating: steak frites, pan au chocolate, lots of cafe au lait and vin rouge. Here's Cory enjoying some macarons from Lauderee, a French cookie store that was a favorite of Marie Antoinette.

When not snacking, Cory and I tracked down famous literary haunts. The Shakespeare and Company bookstore was a frequent haunt of Ernest Hemingway's, as well as Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein.

Here's where I have to admit that Cory and I spent a whole day of our trip at Disneyland Paris. Yes, I know this is an unconventional choice. Still, we loved it. Well, I loved it. Cory went along with it.

We learned a lot at French Disney. For example, Mickey Mouse can speak excellent French; Donald Duck cannot. And, for those of you wondering what Disney characters look like in French-i-color, check this out:


  1. The French liked you! Me less so.

  2. That is to say, the French liked me less so. Not that the French liked you and I don't.